


Today and Every Day

by piratekelly



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: 5+1, 5+1 Things, Established Relationship, M/M, Marriage Proposal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-23
Updated: 2014-06-23
Packaged: 2018-02-05 20:32:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,602
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1831318
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/piratekelly/pseuds/piratekelly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Or: Five Times Derek Tries to Propose (and the One Time He Does)</p><p> </p><p>  <i>After six years together, Derek feels like it’s the right time to propose.  The Universe, however, has other plans.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Today and Every Day

**Author's Note:**

> So my friend from college got engaged, and my first response was to write completely self-indulgent “fail to propose” fic. That’s normal, right?
> 
> Warnings/Spoilers: Meh, everything that’s aired? It’s all fair game. Also, excessive cheese factor. Also also, I’m ignoring parts of canon because I can (like the Hale house being repossessed and also character deaths). I listened to “Marry Me” by Train on repeat until this was done, which is way too many times.
> 
> Love to my amazing beta Meagan, who always seems to think I'm funny.
> 
> P.S. Don't post any of my fic to Goodreads.

Derek doesn’t remember making the conscious decision to propose. If he had, he’d probably have thought the whole process through a little more thoroughly. It’s just that Stiles had finished college two years ago, moved into the rebuilt Hale house (in an official capacity – unofficially he’d come over one day and never really left) shortly thereafter, and Derek had the nagging feeling that something was missing, that there was something he needed to add to his otherwise comfortable life. A week later he’d walked by a jewelry shop and thought, _Oh_.

He bought the ring on impulse and had been a jittery mess ever since.

Derek had hidden the box in one of his pillows on his side of the bed, the one he uses to prop himself up when he’s reading while Stiles putters around the house in an attempt to burn off his excess energy before bed. It may seem like a weird place to hide something, but Stiles, in the nearly six years they’ve been together, has never once stripped or made the bed. It’s the only place Derek could think of where Stiles would definitely never find anything, whether he was looking for it or not. 

It’s now been there for three weeks.

It’s not that Derek doesn’t want to propose. He does. He really, really does. The longer he has the ring, the more sure of it he is. In fact, he’s wanted to do it for so long that he’s genuinely surprised he hasn’t just dropped to one knee in the middle of the cereal aisle and told Stiles that the only Fruit Loop he wants to get stale in his kitchen for the rest of his life is him. 

(It was a close call, honestly. He almost did it. He’s almost certain Stiles would have enjoyed it.)

Anyway.

The point is, he’s been dying to do it for a while. The problem is that the universe just keeps conspiring against him. Any time Derek thinks “hey, this might be a good time, I should do it now,” _something_ happens that makes it impossible to spit the question out. He’s just so tired of not being able to say the words, so he decides that, after yet another missed opportunity at the last pack barbecue, he’s going to just go for it at the next opportunity that presents itself. He’s not going to be picky. They could be bleeding in the woods and he’d still do it. So that’s what’s going to happen.

He’s going to do it. Probably tomorrow. He hopes, anyway.

1\. 

He doesn’t get around to it the next day, or the next week, or, if he’s being honest, the week after that. It’s that weird time of year where there aren’t any gift-giving holidays any time soon, so he can’t wait for one of those, and the promise of forever doesn’t quite strike him as an appropriate “because I felt like it” gift, because with his luck, that would backfire _spectacularly_.

Two weeks after his initial promise to himself, and thus tempting the universe to fuck up his shit at every possible turn, he and Stiles decide to get out of town for a few days, just the two of them. A few hours, vacation time approval and two duffle bags later and they’re in the Camaro and on their way to Los Angeles. It’s late when they get to their hotel, and after six hours in the car they’d really rather not deal with any more traffic, so they get room service and promptly pass out.

They don’t bother with getting out of bed much the next day, opting to take advantage of the fact that they don’t have to worry about anyone walking in on them. It had seemed like a good idea at the time, honestly, and it had been, up until they fell asleep after the second round of morning sex. They hadn’t bothered with pulling up the covers, confident they’d just wind up pushing them back down within the next hour, so they napped in the warm sunlight streaming through the window, naked and wrapped around each other, sated and happy.

Until the maid walked in and ran away after Derek nearly wolfed out. Stiles laughed so hard he fell off the bed. Derek definitely did not help him up.

For the most part, it’s been a relaxing trip, so when the moment finally presents itself, it really doesn’t go as planned. Of course, saying that it doesn’t “go as planned” would imply that he’d actually had a plan to follow through on in the first place, which he most definitely does not.

After the fiasco with the maid, they’d decided it would probably be in their best interest to abandon the room for a few hours, lest Derek scare any other hotel employees into quitting their jobs. Because a calm afternoon is nearly impossible to come by back home, they spend the afternoon doing as many normal, touristy things as possible. Mostly it just involves them walking around, hand in hand, as they take in the sights. 

Eventually the need to rest wins out and they decide to head to the nearest park. Stiles would rather continue on, but Derek appeals to Stiles’ snoopy nature and promises that they can people watch and use his super hearing if they can just sit on a bench for ten minutes. The sun is setting, adding a slight chill to the breeze, but they continue on, barely speaking as they soak up a rare moment in which they can simply exist with each other.

They’re only a few blocks away from their destination when Derek hears it, the sounds of rushing water and the awed whispers of passersby, and decides to indulge himself in a little side trip to see what’s going on.

The fountain is beautiful, the water taking on a bit of an orange glow as it reflects the sunlight, cascading down concentric circles of cement, the fountain itself surrounded by a pool of still water. It’s impressive in its simplicity; Derek can’t quite figure out what it is that prevents him from looking away, but if the uptick in Stiles’ heartbeat is to be believed, then Derek’s not the only one who finds himself captivated.

He reaches into his back pocket for his phone, hoping to ask someone to take a picture of them in front of the fountain before the sun sets completely, but when he gets a hand inside all he feels is velvet. Almost like the velvet on a ring box. It takes him a second, but when he realizes what’s happening, he freezes.

It’s _exactly_ like a ring box. 

He has the ring. Right here. Right now. He could use it, for ring purposes, like getting engaged, and stuff. The setting is romantic enough, right? I mean, sure, he’d prefer to do this privately, but there are only a handful of people around, all of whom probably don’t even realize that Derek and Stiles are there. The sun is setting and they’re in a beautiful park and Derek has to do it. Like, _right now_. Preferably before he passes out.

Closing his hand around the box, he turns to Stiles, who is still staring at the fountain with a soft smile on his face. Derek thinks it to himself all the time, but Stiles is perfect to him, and in this moment he thinks it’s never been more true.

“Hey, Stiles?” Stiles hums in response, never looking away from the sight in front of him. “I ¬–”

And then a guitar starts playing, and some dude who wasn’t even there five seconds ago quickly becomes the bane of Derek’s existence because he’s singing (kind of poorly, if you ask Derek, but since this is happening it’s obvious that no one did) to a girl Derek assumes is his girlfriend, and she’s crying and Stiles is about to break Derek’s hand with how hard he’s gripping it, smiling like he’s trying not to laugh, but Derek knows that Stiles finds it at least a little adorable. The song ends, he gets down on bended knee, she says yes, cheers and applause break out across the land, blah, blah, blah. Derek just wants to get back to their room and wallow in yet another loss to the universe, take the night to lick his wounds and try again tomorrow.

They leave after a few minutes (Derek would have left sooner but Stiles wanted to congratulate the couple), and begin the walk back to their hotel. He kind of wishes they would just call for a cab to pick them up at the park, but instead he decides to cool off in the fresh air and directs them back in the direction they had come. By some miracle it takes Stiles around ten minutes to remember they’d been having a conversation.

“Hey,” he says. “What did you want to talk to me about back there?”

Derek shakes his head, waving it off. “Nothing. Wasn’t important.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah,” he replies, reaching out and lacing their fingers together. “Let’s just get back to the room. I’m kind of tired.”

Derek can practically feel Stiles’ grin as he responds. “ _Yeah, you are_.”

“Shut up.”

Okay, maybe not tomorrow, but he will try again. They’ve been through too much together to not make it in the long run.

Derek just needs to find the right time is all.

2.

He tries again a few days later, after they’ve returned home and gone back to their regularly scheduled lives. Derek managed to get a last-minute reservation at Stiles’ favorite Italian restaurant (and by “managed to get” he means that Jackson pulled a lot of strings and Derek, as much as it physically pains him, now owes Jackson a favor of equal or greater value) and it’s close to their anniversary so it seems to be as good a time as any.

It all starts out fine. Stiles comes down the stairs wearing a deep blue polo, a charcoal jacket rolled up to his elbows and the jeans Derek likes on him the most , and if he weren’t planning on proposing tonight, he’d throw Stiles over his shoulder and take him back upstairs where they belong. He settles for slowly gazing up and down Stiles’ body, snorting a little at the smirk that crosses Stiles’ face when Stiles tells Derek that he doesn’t look too shabby himself. After a solid thirty minutes of figuring out what he wanted to wear on one of the most important nights of his life he finally settled for a burgundy button-down shirt, sleeves also rolled up to the elbows, and his nicest pair of dark wash jeans.

Stiles, in his hurry to get out of the house, drops the car keys on the floor by the door and Derek smiles fondly to himself. Stiles may be twenty-five now, but in so many ways he’s still the same sixteen year old that Derek met in the woods that day. He has more control over his limbs than he did then, but every once in a while his enthusiasm will take over and it’s like absolutely nothing has changed. Apparently Stiles is really excited about the lasagna in his future, and all Derek can think about is how lucky he is to get to spend the rest of his life with this overgrown child. Stiles is already in the passenger seat of the Camaro, yelling at Derek to lock up the house and get going, by the time the thought passes.

“Yes, dear,” he mutters, rolling his eyes as he does just as Stiles asked.

“Getting slow in your old age,” Stiles says as Derek slides into the driver’s seat.

“Yeah?” he purrs, leaning over far enough to hear a hitch in Stiles’ breath. “I thought you liked slow?”

“Well,” Stiles starts, pausing long enough to turn himself around so that he’s staring out the windshield once again. “I also like food, so there.”

Derek smirks for most of the duration of the drive.

He’d had Jackson lay it all out for the manager: they were to get through their usual dinner of lasagna and spaghetti and meatballs, where Derek would then excuse himself to go to the bathroom, meet the manager outside the kitchen and hand him the ring. After he and Stiles put in their dessert orders, the manager would then hide the ring under the fruit on Stiles’ cheesecake. Stiles would find it, Derek would drop to one knee, and it would all be done. It was going to be great.

By the time they’d finished dinner and Derek had excused himself, he was starting to feel cautiously optimistic about the night’s events. So far everything had been great, so there was no reason why the next ten minutes couldn’t go exactly as planned. Which is why, when dessert arrived, it turned into a disaster.

Just as Stiles is about to take the first bite of his cheesecake, a woman two tables over pauses slightly before spitting her champagne all over the table and her date. After daintily patting her napkin around her lips – as much as someone can do anything ‘daintily’ with the sheer amount of suppressed rage Derek can feel radiating off of her – she pulls a ring out of her mouth and glares at her date, who cowers in his seat. Derek assumes she’s not answering the implied question because she’s too embarrassed to speak, and Stiles snorts his disbelief as he turns back around to his plate.

“What kind of idiot proposes like that? There are literally a million ways it could go wrong, never mind the added bonus of public humiliation. I just… don’t get it.”

And Derek, Derek desperately needs to get that ring out of Stiles’ food, so he says the only thing he can: “Look, I think she’s answering.” 

She’s not answering, Derek knows she’s not answering, but the two of them are leaning into each other enough that it looks as though they’re having some kind of moment, so Derek takes the opportunity to reach over the empty glasses that litter their table.

Of course, he’d completely overestimated how much space he would have to cover in order to get away with the ring unnoticed, so what he’d intended to be a quick snatch and grab ended in the complete destruction of cheesecake and graham cracker crust. When Stiles turns back around, the squawk that comes from his mouth makes Derek cringe just a little bit. “Did you just steal the strawberry off my cheesecake?”

Derek nods. He’d also picked up the ring and a good chunk of the cheesecake itself, but he figures that right now isn’t the best time to mention it.

“Dude, you completely wrecked my dessert!”

“Yes,” Derek deadpans. “Yes, I did.”

Stiles scoffs, digging in to what could probably be more accurately described as a cheese pile than a cheesecake, muttering something about Derek _so not getting laid tonight_.

He figured as much, but having it confirmed totally doesn’t help.

3\. 

For his third attempt, Derek decides to make it just a little bit more personal. It’s Easter, they both have the day off, and Stiles likes puzzles and figuring things out, so Derek decides on an Easter egg hunt. He’s seen variations of this particular plan in his online research, some involving finding notes instead of eggs, whereas others have single letters on individual eggs and the searching individual has to figure out what it spells. 

At the rate Stiles tends to get side-tracked, Derek decides against wasting his time dying a few dozen eggs and instead buys a few packages of plastic ones, stuffing each of them with anything from a ring pop to the gummy Life Savers (because they look like rings, okay, at this point if it’s circular and candy it fits the bill). Stiles is observant; Derek knows this, Stiles knows this, everyone who’s ever met Stiles knows this. So even if this fails fantastically, Derek at least hopes that Stiles’ skills will fill in the blanks and all Derek will have to do is _ask the damn question_ so he can stop stressing about this already.

He heads out the afternoon before Easter and plants the eggs in very specific places: the clearing where he first met Stiles, the park bench by the lake where they had their first kiss, the old treehouse they found the day they decided to move in together, hiding just a few in between to keep Stiles moving in the right direction. He saves the last one for the next morning, having tucked both a piece of ribbon tied at one end into the egg and the ring before closing it and tacking it to the front door of their house. 

The next morning, Stiles drags him out of bed, into the car, and to the start of their usual trail about two miles down the road, all before nine. Derek would be angry, but Stiles had enough foresight to at least kiss him awake and make him a travel mug of coffee. Derek knows from experience that there are many, many worse ways to wake up. 

It’s a beautiful Spring day and everything smells new, full of the promise of another beautiful summer surrounded by trees and flowers in full bloom, and Derek allows himself to feel hopeful as he follows an overly-enthusiastic Stiles through the woods as he discovers one egg after the other. After he finds the first Ring Pop, Stiles gives him a sly look that tells Derek he knows why they’re involved. Derek just shrugs, completely unashamed; he hates the artificial sugary taste, but he really likes the way Stiles’ mouth looks when he’s eating them. 

All in all it only takes about an hour to get to the small clearing that gives way to their back yard. Stiles, still grinning after having found the egg at the treehouse, makes for the back door with his loot, clearly eager to get a head start on his sugar high, but Derek wraps a hand around his bicep and pulls him around to the front of the house. His heart starts racing as he realizes that he’s closer to finishing out a plan than he’s managed in all of his attempts combined – his hands are sweaty and shaky, and he feels a little lightheaded with how fast the blood is rushing through his veins. It’s going to happen, the front porch is in sight, just a few more feet –

– and then the front door opens, and Scott McCall walks out, pink plastic egg in hand.

“Dude,” he greets Stiles. “Why was there an egg on your front door?”

Stiles yelps, dropping all of his collected items as he makes for the porch. “Mine! Give me that!”

Scott looks up just in time to see Derek standing behind Stiles, who is desperately trying to communicate to Scott that, no matter what, he is _not_ to give Stiles that egg. Derek told Scott forever ago that he was planning on proposing to Stiles, and Scott must remember that, because he looks like a deer in the headlights. Scott, though, for as oblivious as he can be from time to time, tucks the egg behind his back just as Stiles stops in front of him, sputtering.

“What? What are you doing? Scott, give me that!”

Scott grins. “Pick a hand.”

“No,” Stiles groans. “We are not doing that. I want my Easter egg. I _need_ my Easter egg.”

Derek can hear the quiet snick of the egg as Scott opens it, the near-silent scrape of white gold against plastic as the ring is removed. “Pick a hand, Stiles.”

“Fine,” Stiles huffs. “Left.”

Scott reaches out to Stiles, egg in hand. Stiles hoots, pumping a fist in the air in triumph before turning around to fetch all of his other prizes from the yard. 

“You just had to come over today, didn’t you?” Derek says.

“Sorry dude,” Scott cringes. “I forgot. Maybe next time?”

Derek growls and turns to him. “I’d kill you if I thought Stiles would still marry me without his best man there.”

Scott’s face lights up. “Really?”

Derek wants to roll his eyes, but all he can do is stare.

“Not the time, then?”

“No. Really not the time, Scott.”

After a few moments of awkward silence, occasionally interrupted by the sound of candy wrappers opening, Scott points a finger over to his car. “I’m gonna… go, if that’s alright with you,” he mumbles, already backing away slowly.

“That’s probably a good idea.”

Scott makes a break for his car then, throwing a quick goodbye to Stiles over his shoulder as he pulls open the driver side door and hops in, pulling away barely seconds later. He calms down long enough to enjoy the look of confusion on Stiles’ face when he opens the egg and discovers it’s completely empty.

“What the hell?”

 _What the hell, indeed_ , Derek thinks. Scott just ran off with the ring.

Derek just sighs, slumping over as he shuffles his way into the house. He’ll get it back tomorrow.

4\. 

After he licks his wounds for a few days, he makes an executive decision about the state of his life: The Fourth of July. That’s when he’s going to do it. There is nothing more patriotic than two men getting engaged with a rainbow of fireworks exploding and the inevitable very drunk redneck wearing a shirt with a rather menacing bald eagle on the front screaming _GOD BLESS AMERICA_ in the background.

He spends weeks scouring the internet to find the perfect, simple proposal idea with a Fourth of July theme, spends an equally absurd amount of time watching proposal fail videos (he takes comfort in knowing that, by comparison, he hasn’t failed _that_ horribly) and reading message board upon message board, until he finds the perfect one.

It’s a pretty simple idea: balloons. Place a piece of paper in four balloons, the first with “will”, the second with “you”, and so on, until the target of the proposal reaches a fifth balloon, containing the ring. Have them throw darts at the balloons, piece together the paper, and present them with the ring. Easy, peasy. It’s so simple it’s practically foolproof.

He searches their garage on Stiles’ day off until he finds the plastic tub full of misplaced camping gear, maybe gets a little more excited than is necessary when he finds a lone tent stake that’s flared just enough at the top that he could tie ribbon around it without balloons flying away. He heads to the local party store and picks up three small packages of red, white, and blue balloons, and a small helium tank. He puts his bags and the tank in the basement, knowing that Stiles will never go down there to look for anything, and waits.

A few days later, he and the rest of the pack arrive at the fairgrounds a little ahead of schedule. It’s the perfect spot, close enough to the trees to protect the humans from a painful sunburn, but open enough that their view of the fireworks remains unobstructed. They lay down blankets, one spot each for Erica and Boyd, Jackson and Lydia, and Scott and Allison. Isaac and Danny are off to the side at the grill, probably talking about comic books and the perfect way to handle meat, a conversation Derek never wants to take part in. Isaac can be shockingly dirty under the right circumstances.

While they all open coolers full of alcohol and get settled in to wait for the afternoon sun to set, Derek pushes the tent stake into the ground, tying silver ribbon just under the flared end before stepping back to inflate the balloons. They’re already stuffed with their respective pieces of paper, but Derek decided not to take his chances with the ring and left that in his pocket. By the time he has it all set up, balloons floating in the wind and plan set in motion, Derek is covered in a light sheen of sweat and Stiles is walking up to him, greeting him with a peck on the lips before waving to the rest of the group.

“What’s with the balloons?”

Derek shrugs, popping the top off of a Summer Shandy, taking a long drag from the bottle. He doesn’t miss the way Stiles watches his throat as he swallows. “Just marking our territory, I guess.”

“Uh-huh,” Stiles deadpans. “You’re up to something.”

“No, I’m not,” Derek laughs.

“Are, too,” Stiles replies. “You so are, and I’m going to find out what it is.”

“I give you until sunset.”

Stiles extends a hand, and Derek makes like he’s going to shake it to solidify their agreement, but at the last second he pulls Stiles in for a long, slow burn of a kiss. 

“Challenge accepted,” Stiles exhales.

Derek grins, winking at Stiles before pushing him away. “Better get started, then.”

Stiles huffs, but does as he’s told.

Two hours and too many burgers, hot dogs, and beers to count later and Stiles still hasn’t figured it out. Nobody will tell him anything, even though he’s figured out that they all know _something_ that they’re not saying. Derek won’t lie and say he doesn’t enjoy watching Stiles get a little flustered from time to time, because he definitely does. Stiles has never been shy about telling Derek how adorable he looks when he gets frustrated, so it’s nice to get a little payback for all the times Stiles has hidden things just to make Derek mad.

The sun is almost completely down when Stiles makes his way back to Derek’s side, grumbling something about secrets not making friends, and Derek just reaches into his pocket and silently hands Stiles some darts. Stiles stares at Derek’s hand, then looks up to his face, then back down to his hand, as though he’d suddenly found himself in an Old Spice commercial. Fortunately, no one here is on horses and Stiles finally picks up what Derek is laying down and takes the darts from him. 

“Seriously?”

“Seriously,” Derek grins. “But you have to pop them all before you can move.”

Stiles turns, squaring his shoulders towards the balloons, tongue caught between his teeth as he focuses on his targets. Just as he brings up his right hand to make his first attempt, Derek catches movement out of the corner of his eye.

After that, everything happens in slow motion.

The chubby 6-year-old that belongs to the family that’s been picnicking next to them all afternoon decides that, at that exact moment, he needs to run over to his parents before it gets too dark for him to find them. For Derek, it’s like watching a car accident: he wants so badly to step in front of this child, do something, literally _anything_ , to change his trajectory, but Derek is frozen in place as he feels the last whispers of potential success leave him. The boy trips, taking the tent stake with him, which releases the balloons (full of _helium_ , Derek’s brain helpfully supplies) into the evening sky. 

He can only watch his hard work float away as a chorus of groans and hisses of sympathetic pain erupt from behind him. Stiles just drops the darts, his jaw quickly following suit, as he mimics Derek, eyes blankly following the bundle of balloons as they float up, up, up, until they’re nothing but tiny dots in the sky.

Derek just sighs, shoulders slumped as he tilts his head back and closes his eyes, wondering what he did in a past life to deserve such horrible karma. He can hear Allison talking to the parents of the fallen boy, assuring them that it’s okay, he’s done nothing wrong, accidents happen, and Jackson may or may not snort, because the kid’s parents shoot him some pretty mean looks before turning to walk back to their blanket. Derek shakes his head and assures himself that it could have been worse.

At least he didn’t put the ring in a fifth balloon.

5\. 

Derek has absolutely had it. He’s reached his breaking point. He’s spent the last few months trying to ask one simple fucking question, and the fact that he still hasn’t been able to complete any of his plans is starting to haunt him even in his sleep. If he doesn’t get it done in the next week he’s taking Stiles to the cereal aisle of the nearest grocery store and proposing like should have done when the thought first crossed his mind. (Though with his luck, he’d get down on one knee only to have the shelves of brightly colored boxes collapse, burying them both, and some kid would mistake a very nice white gold band for a cereal box prize and Derek would never see it again.)

He’s at his wit’s end, so he calls Allison and Lydia. Since he’s discovered that the universe has apparently deemed all of his plans unworthy, he figures that leaving it in the hands of someone else might be the ticket.

It’s fairly simple, their idea. Icicle twinkle lights strung throughout the branches of the trees where the woods meet the backyard, a picnic for two, and a promise that absolutely no one will show up at the house for at least two days so that Derek can bask in the glory of his inevitable success. 

Derek takes Stiles over to the Sheriff and Melissa’s on the day of, mostly to get him out of the house to give the girls time to work, but also because he really enjoys spending time there since John retired and they actually got to know each other outside of an interrogation room. He’s never tried to replace Derek’s father, never insisted that Derek refer to him as such, but he’s the closest thing Derek’s had to a father figure in years, and being around him calms Derek’s racing mind. 

While Stiles and Melissa are discussing some new complicated and excessively sugary dessert recipe (Derek is really not looking forward to the aftermath of Stiles on _that_ sugar high), John and Derek move into the kitchen to make sandwiches for lunch. It’s quiet, for the most part. They used to do this all the time when Stiles was away at college and wasn’t around to keep John company on his days off, so it’s not surprising that when Derek elbows John, the older man passes him the butter knife without a word. Sometimes the way John and Derek quietly interact with each other freaks Stiles out, but he’s heard Stiles mumble on more than one occasion that he’s happy they get along so well. 

As they’re plating lunch, Derek just kind of blurts it out.

“Tonight,” he says.

The Sheriff frowns, confused, and for a second Derek is kind of ashamed that it’s taken him so long to get around to asking Stiles after he’d given John the head’s up. “Oh!” John exclaims. “ _That_ thing. Tonight. The thing we haven’t talked about in five months.”

Derek cringes. “It hasn’t been the easiest thing to do.”

John pats him on the shoulder, grabbing a bag of corn chips as he passes. “The best things in life never are, Derek.”

He figures that, under the circumstances, it’s the best endorsement he could have hoped for.

…

They head home shortly after Lydia texts him the all-clear, and right as they walk in the front door, Derek sends Stiles upstairs to change. Allison had picked out clothes for Stiles, and Derek had left his folded in the downstairs bathroom. He changes quickly, and is standing by the patio door by the time Stiles comes back down.

The sun is setting behind the trees, surrounding them in muted shades of pink, yellow, and orange. The icicle lights stand out more than they would have a few months ago now that the leaves are beginning to thin out. They look like fireflies, swinging slightly with the breeze, giving off just enough light for them to make out the picnic basket on the ground just ahead of them. 

He reaches over and grabs Stiles’ hand, threading their fingers together as he walks them both across the yard. He gently nudges Stiles, who seems to have forgotten how to speak, onto the blanket, following him down before reaching for the basket. The moment he opens it he’s overwhelmed by the smell of fresh burgers and curly fries. Apparently it’s all Stiles needed because he immediately snaps out of his daze and launches himself over Derek’s lap, almost spilling everything onto the grass.

“Sorry,” Stiles says, though it’s muffled behind the handful of fries he’s shoved into his mouth.

“I can tell,” Derek snorts as he reaches for his own.

They eat in companionable silence, happy to simply be together as they enjoy the last of the sun’s warmth before it completely disappears beyond the horizon. It’s not long after they’ve finished, after the colors of the sky fade to deep purples and blues, that Derek feels the first signs of a chill breaking across Stiles’ skin. He pulls Stiles into his chest, tucking the younger man’s head under his chin as he wraps his arms around Stiles’ torso. He can feel the ring box in his back pocket, the steady beat of Stiles’ heart under his hand, and Stiles sighs and leans into him so that Derek is supporting all of his weight.

Now is as good a time as any, he supposes.

“You were right, you know.”

Stiles hums, curling himself closer into the warmth of Derek’s chest. “ ‘M always right,” he mumbles.

“Yeah, okay,” Derek replies, carding his fingers through Stiles’ hair as Stiles tilts his head up to look Derek in the eye.

“What was I right about? This time, I mean.”

“That night at the fairgrounds.”

“About you being up to something?”

“I said I’d give you until sunset, didn’t I?” Derek replies, shifting his gaze to the near-black sky above them. Stiles releases a deep sigh that Derek’s pretty sure is Stiles’ more restrained version of “finally”. 

He takes a deep breath, preparing himself to move Stiles so that Derek can assume the proposal position, but his breath catches just before he gets his hands around Stiles’ biceps. He doesn’t know how he didn’t smell it sooner, the earthy smell on the air, the clean undertone of electricity, and Derek estimates that they have about two minutes to get inside before it all goes to hell.

“Stiles, grab everything you can and run for the house.”

Derek can feel Stiles swing from content to anxious as they both stand, Derek collecting their trash and tossing it in the basket as Stiles just stands there, confused.

“Derek, what’s going on?”

“Just grab your stuff and get inside.”

Stiles groans, shoving his hands in his pockets. “Not until you tell me what –”

He never gets to finish his sentence, because the skies have opened up, and they’re soaked in a matter of moments.

“ _That’s why_ ,” Derek yells. It gets them both in gear, as Stiles makes a break for the patio door just as Derek finishes packing the last of their belongings into the basket. It’s a slippery run, and Stiles trips more than once, and by the time they make it to the door they both look like they put their clothes on fresh out of the washer.

They walk inside, opting to stand on the welcome mat to let at least some of the water drip off of them. Stiles is already starting to tremble from the cold, both because of the water and the A/C, and Derek makes the decision to at least get Stiles a little bit dry. Derek has a higher body temperature, he can handle it for a few more minutes.

As he looks around the room, he thanks every deity he can think of for Stiles’ laziness when it comes to laundry, because he didn’t put the towels away and instead they’re neatly stacked on the kitchen table.

He pulls Stiles over to the table, where Derek pulls a towel off the stack and puts it on Stiles’ head, gently rubbing his scalp to get the worst of it out of his hair. He moves down and wipes off any visible skin, pats down the clothes to soak up some of the moisture, but knows it’s pretty much a lost cause until they get upstairs.

“So,” Stiles says, teeth chattering slightly. “You were saying?”

“We can talk about it tomorrow. Right now we need to get you dried off.” And it’s true. He’s not making excuses for himself anymore, because Stiles has always been his number one priority, and this is no different than any other time Derek has felt the need to care for him.

Stiles takes a step forward, reaching out to pull Derek to him. “But _Derek_ –”

“ _Tomorrow_ , Stiles,” he grumbles.

“Alright, fine,” Stiles replies, voice gentle. “If it bothers you that much, we can wait until tomorrow.”

Derek sighs and thanks him, lets Stiles lead them up the stairs to their room, where it takes them a few minutes to peel off layers of wet denim and cotton. When they’re finally dressed in dry pajamas, they crawl into bed, immediately gravitating towards each other as Derek rests his head on Stiles’ chest, seeking comfort in the steady beat of his heart. He feels Stiles’ arm fall around his shoulders, a line of warmth across his cold skin, and (hopefully) mutters that he loves Stiles before giving in and closing his eyes.

\--

Derek has a dream that night in which he finally just gives up on planning something even kind of romantic and just tosses the ring at Stiles in a fit of frustration. It’s oddly satisfying to have the ring out of his hands, and the image of Stiles’ confused face makes him smile.

The dream fades out as his body tries to force him into waking up. He thinks he hears someone groan “what the fuck, man” but he falls back into dreamland before he can question it.

He sleeps peacefully for the rest of the night.

+1

Derek wakes up to the smell of Belgian waffles, bacon, coffee, and the sound of someone chewing right next to him. He rolls onto his other side and is met with the sight of Stiles sitting cross-legged, facing Derek as he helps himself to another spoonful of cereal. Stiles nods to the tray sitting between them, full of food – it all looks so delicious, and Derek is so hungry, but he raises an eyebrow in question; Stiles doesn’t do these sorts of things out of the kindness of his heart. Derek’s either in trouble or Stiles is about to tell him he’s pregnant or something, and Derek’s willing to bet on the former.

“I thought I’d make you breakfast after that lovely wake-up call at 2 o’clock this morning.”

It takes Derek a second, but once he knows what to look for, it’s easy to spot a silver sparkle that is definitely not a metal spoon. All he can do is bury his face in his hands and groan. Okay, so it hadn’t been a dream. Great. He’d like to be able to tell himself that Stiles still doesn’t really know what’s going on, despite all the evidence to the contrary, and decides it’s probably in his best interest to admit that the jig is up.

“What did I say?”

“Something about me being the only cereal in your kitchen for the rest of forever, and then you grunted and threw the box at me.”

Derek winces into his coffee. “So it could have gone better.”

“Meh,” Stiles shrugs as he shovels another forkful of cereal into his mouth. “I thought it was acceptable. You have surprisingly good aim when you’re mostly unconscious.”

“Acceptable? I called you a Fruit Loop, Stiles.”

“Not the worst thing I’ve ever been called, you know. If the situation had been reversed I’m sure I’d have said something about Trix only being for kids.”

“I thought you would want something a little more romantic,” Derek says, reaching for a piece of toast. “Wait, are you making fun of my teeth again?”

“ ‘Again’ implies that I ever stopped. Your bunny teeth are adorable. Embrace them, Derek.”

Derek sets the now empty mug on the nightstand before shuffling himself around so that he’s sitting directly across from Stiles. “I know I screwed it up. More than a few times, really –”

Stiles frowns, features scrunching in confusion. “How long – what?”

“Five months, give or take a few days.” Stiles chokes on his cereal, but waves off Derek’s offer of help, motioning instead for him to keep talking. “I’ve been screwing it up since I started trying – the trip to L.A., the restaurant, Easter –”

Stiles hoots, pumping a fist in the air. “I _knew_ there was supposed to be something in the last egg!”

“– and the Fourth of July. Everything’s gone wrong every time I’ve tried, and now you know what’s going on, and I never even got to ask.”

“Derek,” Stiles chokes out, clearly trying to restrain his laughter as he reaches over to grab Derek’s hand, pressing them together, palm to palm. “It never mattered to me how it happened. I was always going to say yes.” He pulls his hand back, and Derek looks down to see that Stiles has put the ring in his hand.

“Alright,” he whispers, looking up to meet Stiles’ gaze with his own. He clears his throat, trying to act as though his heart isn’t about to beat out of his chest. “Stiles Stilinski, will you –”

“YES,” Stiles yells, nodding emphatically.

“Stiles!” Derek groans. “You didn’t let me finish!”

“I’m sorry, Derek, I really am,” he says, offering his left hand, not sounding apologetic in the least. “But I’ve known my answer since the day we made this thing official and I don’t want to wait another second, so _put the damn ring on me_.”

Derek does as he’s asked, grinning to himself as he slides the ring onto Stiles’ finger. Now that he can get a better look, it’s just as perfect as he’d imagined. There’s a part of him that can’t believe that he actually got the question out, that Stiles is actually choosing to be with him forever, but a bigger part is screaming that something has never felt more right. He pulls Stiles in so that they’re chest to chest, with one hand on the back of Stiles’ neck, and kisses him so hard he can’t breathe.

“Derek,” Stiles laughs, a hair’s breath away from Derek’s lips. “Derek, let me breathe!” Derek pulls away reluctantly, but only to rest his forehead against Stiles’, to pull his _fiancé_ closer, to feel Stiles’ heartbeat against his own as lanky arms wrap around his shoulders. Stiles’ fingers card through the short hairs at the base of Derek’s skull and Derek instantly relaxes into the touch. “We’re getting married,” Stiles whispers, and Derek lets out a watery breath.

He can only nod, eyes squeezed shut to keep away the tears. He was prepared for this to be emotional in some ways, but he didn’t expect to wish, as badly as his does, that his family could be here to see this. He can see Laura so clearly, jumping and screaming and hogging Stiles to herself, because she would have loved him as much as Derek does. He pictures his mom’s smile, his dad’s face beaming with pride, all of his aunts and uncles and their children milling around the house to set up for a celebration.

He doesn’t get to think about it before long, because Stiles pulls away, leaning over to the nightstand to grab his phone. Derek watches him get up and pull on a t-shirt, grinning the entire time, and he finds himself smiling as well. Even if it wasn’t romantic, wasn’t an overly grand gesture, wasn’t anything Derek had planned, it still turned out pretty perfect.

“Now if you’ll excuse me,” Stiles says, leaning over to peck Derek on the lips before turning toward the door. “I have to go call my dad.”

“He already knows.”

Stiles stops dead in his tracks, turning slowly so that he’s facing Derek again. “I’m sorry?”

“He already knew I’d planned this.”

“Derek Hale,” Stiles growls, stepping back into Derek’s space, pointing a finger at his chest. “I swear to god, if you asked my dad for my hand you’ll be missing one of your own.”

“Um.”

Stiles starts talking a mile a minute about how he’s his own damn person, thanks very much, and that if his dad had had any say in Stiles’ choice of life partner then they’d never have made it to their first date, and by the time he accuses Derek of being offered some sort of dowry to take Stiles off his dad’s hands, Derek’s on the floor laughing uncontrollably. Stiles huffs and stomps down the hall, slamming the office door shut behind him, presumably to make his phone call.

Derek wipes the tears from his eyes and goes to clean up what’s left of breakfast. He’ll let the Sheriff tell Stiles that Derek only came to him for advice. The apology sex will be great.

Maybe not as great as married sex, but he’ll find out about that soon enough.


End file.
